


Yuuri (on my wall)

by Rosie_Rues



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 03:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Rues/pseuds/Rosie_Rues
Summary: Victor wishes he had a collection of Yuuri's memorabilia. Yuuri doesn't think there is any.Yuri Plisetsky knows better.Just a silly-sweet thing, set about six months after the show. Relationships in the background and the Otayuri is very slight.





	Yuuri (on my wall)

Victor insisted on bringing the stupid pork cutlet bowl’s creepy as fuck poster collection back to Russia with them. It now covers an entire wall of their flat, and Victor likes to pose next to it. To his credit, the pork cutlet bowl, who has enough of a sense of shame to balance out Victor’s complete and utter lack of it, tends to turn red and stammer in horror whenever he does it (unless he’s drunk and Yuri does not need to think about that, thank you very much. He’s already scarred for life). Over the next few months, more posters get added—multiple versions of their disgusting paired skate, and several new and shiny ones of Pork Cutlet Bowl in his latest costumes. It’s almost sweet, in a grossly egotistical way.

And then one day, Yuri overhears Victor saying mournfully, “I can’t believe they never made any official merchandise for you before now, Yuuri. I would have collected it all.”

Yuri chokes on his drink.

And Pork Cutlet Bowl, the lying little piggy, says, wide-eyed, “Oh, I was never that important, Vitya. Why would anyone make posters of me?”

Yuri chokes again, so badly he starts coughing.

Mila hits him obligingly on the back and asks, “Something wrong, baby?” Her voice has that note that suggests she’s caught the scent of a secret and won’t rest until she ferrets out the truth.

“No!” Yuri snarls and then, because her eyes are still narrowed, he lies, “Beka sent me a picture of a cat on a rollercoaster.”

She ruffles his hair, laughs at him, and wanders off to torment Georgi.

To be safe, Yuri texts Otabek.  _Send me a picture of a cat on a rollercoaster. Quickly!_

Otabek texts back,  _Should I ask?_

_No. Just do it!_

Otabek sends three. Hah. Yuri wins all round.

  


But it gnaws at him, especially once he realises that the idiot who shares his name actually meant what he said—he genuinely believes that nobody ever made any merchandise of Japan’s top figure skater. How the fuck is that even possible? He must have signed the contracts—must know he has sponsors.

Otabek, over Skype, furrows his brow thoughtfully and says, “Didn’t he also not notice that he was engaged to Victor? Even after he bought the rings and proposed himself?”

Yuri beats his head against the desk a few times. “I hate him. I hate Victor. I hate them both.”

“Of course you do,” Otabek agrees with him. “That’s why you called me at two am to rant about them.”

Yuri lifts his head just enough to give Otabek a _Look_. 

Otabek looks stoic, but his mouth is ever-do-slightly tilted at the corner in the way that means he’s laughing inside.

Yuri hates everybody.

  


All the same, he can’t quite get it out of his head, especially after he goes online and sees how expensive vintage Yuuri Katsuki memorabilia has become since the stupid piggy squeaked his way to a World Championship win. Some of it you just can’t get anymore, even if you’re stupid-rich and profligate like Victor. And Victor knows this too—Yuri’s heard him bemoaning it to Georgi over lunch.

And it’s annoying, okay—annoying on the same level as the stupid  _Yuuri vs Yuri_ whiteboard Mila’s put up in the changing rooms, just out of his reach (it started as quads landed in practice, until Yakov banned that when it got dangerous, and now she changes the terms every week. Last week it was  _Claiming to be average_ vs _Screaming on ice_ . This week it’s  _Caught kissing his fiance when he should be practising_ vs.  _Caught messaging Otabek when he should be stretching_ which is totally unfair because some people, unlike her, know how to  _multitask_ ).

Yuri stares up at the posters of tigers and bands that cover his walls and tells himself that it’s none of his business and he doesn’t fucking care and Victor’s too annoying to deserve nice things anyway. 

Except…

Except every time someone mentions posters, Victor’s doing that stupid wistful pining face that he wore for weeks after Sochi, and though Yuri obviously doesn’t care about that, anyone who walks into the Apartment of Gross Idiocy right now might assume that the pork cutlet bowl is a stalkerish weirdo superfan (which he is, of course) and not that everything they’re seeing is evidence of Victor Nikiforov’s over-romanticized egotism. And that’s just not fair.

So that’s the only reason Yuri hesitates at the end of his next phone call with his grandpa and mutters a request.

_Kill me_ , he messages Otabek later.  _Kill me now._

_Can’t. Too tired to walk to St Petersburg._

_Do it remotely._

_Too poor to hire assassins. You’ll have to live and suffer for another day._

Yuri goes to sleep grinning to himself contentedly. 

  


Grandpa brings the box with him next time he comes to visit. It’s covered with dust from the attic, and the corners are a little soft with age, but everything inside is still in good condition—Yuri checks and no, he doesn’t linger over certain items. He’s just being thorough.

“Are you sure you want to get rid of all this, Yurochka?” Grandpa asks. “You used to love it so much.”

Yuri hunches his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I grew out of that crap. It’s dumb. Only little kids like that stuff.”

Grandpa eyes the posters currently covering his walls and then turns a wry look at Yuri. He doesn’t say anything, though, but changes the subject to ask after Potya. Yuri makes him pose for a selfie (with Potya, of course) and posts it on Instagram.

Otabek is the first to like it. Yuri sends him a message that says,  _Your turn!_

He'd only being hoping for a cat picture, but a few hours later, Otabek posts a picture of himself with his tiny, impossibly ancient grandmother and a ginger cat that takes up both their laps. All three of them have exactly the same lack of expression. 

Yuri saves it to his phone and spends the next few days showing it to everyone he knows, even after Mila changes the whiteboard targets again. 

  


Yuri waits with the patience of cat (heh) stalking its prey until Pork Cutlet Bowl next leaves the country for a meeting with his sponsors (“Bring me a poster, Yuuri,” Victor calls forlornly as he vanishes through the departure gate). That evening, Yuri invites himself over to eat Victor’s food and play with his dog. He takes the box with him, taking satisfaction at the smear of dust it leaves on Victor’s perfectly polished table. He leaves it there to swerve into the kitchen and open the fridge.

“What’s this?” Victor asks, sounding puzzled.

The quality of the leftovers in Victor’s fridge has definitely gone up since the stupid piggy moved in. Yuri snags a bowl of gyoza and trails over to the microwave. “Some old crap I’m getting rid of.”

“So you brought it here?”

Yuri shoves the food in the microwave and leans back oh-so-casually. He watches as Victor flicks the box open with the tip of his finger and then goes still before diving in to seize the topmost poster. It unrolls in his hands to show Katsuki Yuuri in mid-triple axel, his face intent and his arm raised towards the sky. It’s the sky blue and white free skate costume from his victory in the Junior Grand Prix Final, and Yuri feels the faintest twinge of regret—it had taken weeks of frustration and wrestling with bad google translations to get that delivered from Japan.

Victor gazes at it as if it was the real Yuuri, and then lifts his face to stare at Yuri.

“ _Yurio?_ ” he breathes.

“Not my name, old man,” Yuri mutters. “Like I said, old crap. It was taking up space in the attic.”

Victor does weird heart-faced things with his face, freak of nature that he is. 

The microwave pings and Yuri retrieves his food and slithers back towards the sofa. He says, with the glare he usually saves for Mila. “If you breathe one fucking word to him, I’ll… I’ll…” He can’t think of a threat dire enough.

“I’ll stay quiet,” Victor promises, miming zipping his mouth shut. That’ll be the day.

Yuri slumps on the sofa, making room for Makkachin, switches the TV on, and eats Victor’s dinner as the man himself makes embarrassing squeeing sounds behind him. After a while, he puts his plate aside and goes to mock Victor (and if the mockery includes the odd muttered bit of information like, “And that’s the limited edition figurine in the Olympic jacket,” and “there’s only fifty of those in the world with his actual signature on, so don’t crumple it, fuckwit,”, it’s just to make it clear that he knows the exact extent of Victor’s stupid crush). 

  


When Yuuri gets back from Japan to be greeted with Victor’s new collection, he’s absolutely mortified. Yuri knows this because he talks about it all week.

“I didn’t even know they made all that,” he keeps saying. “Vitya, where  _did_ you get it?”

Victor, for once in his fucking life, remembers his promise and keeps his mouth shut. 

Yuri pretends not to be listening, staring at his phone intently even as Mila wanders past with a whiteboard pen.

He’s got better things to do. Ignoring the cacophony of idiots around him, he scowls at eBay. There’s an official poster of Otabek Altin with his gold medal from the last Four Continents which would fit perfectly on the back of Yuri’s bedroom door.

Band posters are for dumb kids, after all. Yuri thinks it’s time to start collecting something new.

  



End file.
